Sheep May Safely Graze: a Twelfth Night Role Reversal
by JustineR
Summary: Co-written with Jancat10. In this Twelfth Night role reversal set at Rosings, Miss Anne De Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam appear to have switched personalities and bodies, resulting in some rather farcical goings-on and an earlier-than-usual happy ending for Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy in an otherwise canon-ish setting. Two parts plus an epilogue, complete.
1. Part the First

_Blurb: In this Twelfth Night role reversal set at Rosings, Miss Anne De Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam appear to have switched personalities and bodies, resulting in some rather farcical goings-on and an earlier-than-usual happy ending in an otherwise canon-ish setting._

**Sheep May Safely Graze: A Twelfth Night Role Reversal**

**by Jancat10 and JustineR**

**Part the First**

Elizabeth Bennet and Maria Lucas arrived as planned at the Hunsford parsonage on a fine spring day. Elizabeth was delighted to see her friend Charlotte well-settled and seemingly happy with her new situation: her own home, her own servants, her lovely spring garden, and even, unaccountably, her new husband.

Once Elizabeth had settled in, she joined her dear friend in the cozy sitting room, enjoying a cup of tea and a quiet moment now that Mr. Collins had been called away to mediate a squabble between two parishioners over a gargantuan beet that had grown precisely halfway under the fence separating their cottage gardens. Maria had by this time retired to her room in exhaustion after his endless dissertation on root vegetables as a symbol of Christ's sacrifice for our sins.

After Lizzy had shared the latest news of her friend's loved ones in Meryton, Charlotte was anxious to pass along some exciting news of her own. "Lizzy, you shall be interested to hear, I think, that an old friend of yours is here visiting. Can you guess who it is?"

"Mr. Wickham?" Elizabeth asked hopefully.

"Goodness, no," laughed Charlotte heartily. "But, truly, at this rate, you shall never guess who it is. It is Mr. Darcy!"

Just as Elizabeth took a deep breath in preparation for excoriating the character of that horrid man, a commotion was heard in the drive. Charlotte went to the window and pulled aside the curtain. "Come see who it is, Lizzy! It is the Colonel, in his little phaeton!" she called.

And indeed, the tiny, dainty vehicle, with bells all a-jingle, had just turned into the lane and was crawling slowly their way.

"The Colonel?"

"Oh, yes. Colonel Fitzwilliam. He has come here to Rosings to recuperate, you know. He is one of Lady Catherine's nephews, just like Mr. Darcy."

"To recuperate? Oh, dear, was he injured fighting on the Peninsula?"

Again, Charlotte gave a great, jolly laugh. "The Colonel, fight on the Peninsula? No, indeed! His health would never permit it. Apparently he has always been a weak, sickly sort of man." Leaning forward, she said, _sotto voce_, "I hear that when he was a boy, his mother worried so about his fragile constitution that she dressed him in girls' frocks and doted on him as if he were her favorite doll."

"Is that so! How strange, then, that he should become a soldier." Lizzy's eyes sparkled at this absurd contradiction.

"No, not at all, since he is the second son. The family purchased a commission for him, as is normal in these cases."

"But how could he possibly lead men into battle, if he is so very ill?"

"Officers do not do so very much hard work, I hear. I imagine he was simply carried about on a palanquin covered in soft cushions, waving his sword to indicate his orders while the men dashed to and fro and fought Boney." Upon hearing this, Lizzy wondered if Charlotte had ever read anything other than Mrs. Radcliffe's novels.

"In any case," continued Charlotte, "he is suffering from some kind of dreadful wasting condition and is on leave from His Majesty's Army until he has effected a full recovery. Though that does not seem likely to occur, I must admit."

By this time, the Colonel's phaeton had drawn slowly up in front of the parsonage, and Elizabeth and Charlotte went out to meet it. The Colonel was indeed a very sickly looking man, with thin, bony fingers, a sallow complexion, thinning light brown hair, and bleary, watery eyes. As he set down the pony's reins, he pulled a handkerchief from his lacy cuff and dabbed his nose with it.

"Hello," he cried in a reedy voice before lapsing into a fit of dry coughing. Then the Colonel broke into a weak, strained smile. "You must be Mrs. Collins' particular friend. Lovely to meet you. I am—" He bent over, hacking into his handkerchief for a moment, and then looked up, gazing intently at Elizabeth. "It is the reaping season, you know. My aunt is having all the lawns trimmed back for Easter services." He shook his head and shuddered, waving his hand about. "Sheep and scythes everywhere."

Elizabeth took a step back as the sputum-stained handkerchief fluttered in her direction. Reflecting on how Mr. Darcy had brought ruin upon Mr. Wickham, she could not help but wonder whether his actions had somehow led to this man's sad condition as well. Were there no limits to his selfish, spiteful nature?

As the Colonel sputtered some more, Charlotte stepped in and introduced him properly to Elizabeth, simultaneously inviting him to come inside and join them for some tea. Coughing, he politely nodded his agreement and collected his belongings—a scarf, mitts, a plump cushion and a book—and put them into a straw satchel on the floor of the phaeton before he grabbed fruitlessly at the back of the seat in a vain effort to disembark gracefully.

Elizabeth rushed to his assistance as he struggled down from the phaeton. She and Charlotte each took a spindly arm and led him inside to sit by the fire. He placed his cushion on a chair and settled into it. A hot cup of tea seemed to revive his spirits. "Mrs. Collins," he whispered, "you would not by chance have a drop of brandy to sweeten this lovely cup, would you?"

Charlotte rose, stood on her tiptoes and reached around a fat round kettle on a high shelf, nearly dislodging a china shepherdess in the process. She sat down clutching a bottle. The Colonel tittered. "Oh my. This will be grand."

Indeed it was. The brandy worked as a magic elixir, clearing the sickly man's eyes and throat and revealing a sharp-eyed intelligence and wit.

"Miss Bennet, I am so pleased to meet you at last. My cousin has spoken highly of you." His rheumy eyes narrowed. "His letters have been full of stories. You read books, you traipse through mud, you are devoted to your sister..."

Elizabeth, outraged, swallowed back her first retort and reached for the brandy. "He wrote to you, about me?"

"Oh, Darcy does his best to entertain his less fortunate, less traveled relations. He gives counsel to his friends and family and apprises us of the human condition." A bluish finger reached out and tapped the bottle. "Mayhap a touch more in my cup?" Elizabeth and Charlotte watched, fascinated, as the Colonel beseeched them with fluttering eyelashes.

Charlotte obliged, and the Colonel drank deeply from the teacup, his pinky crooked delicately in the air.

"Aah," he said, visibly warming, "Much better, that. Well, the purpose of my trip here is, in fact, something other than to chit-chat about my cousin's correspondence habits. I am _commanded _to invite both of you, and of course your husband, dear Mrs. Collins, for dinner at Rosings tomorrow evening."

"Commanded?" asked Elizabeth, perplexed. "By whom? I thought you were on leave from the Army."

Charlotte giggled nervously for a moment before she regained her sense of decorum and resumed her customary placid demeanor.

"Why, by my aunt, the inestimable Lady Catherine De Bourgh, of course. She is quite the _grande dame_, as you shall see. But also by my cousin Anne." Elizabeth looked at him inquiringly.

He continued, "Darcy's description of you, particularly your love of the outdoors, has piqued her interest beyond all reason. She is simply wild to make your acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth."

The Colonel smiled a big, friendly smile and then suddenly he was taken with a most peculiar, pinched look. He opened his eyes wide, reared back, drawing in a large breath, and then all at once pitched forward as he was seized by fifteen tiny, mouse-like sneezes, each one tripping over the last in its apparent anxiety to begin, as the Colonel fumbled for his handkerchief while his teacup and saucer flew across the room.

"Do you by any chance have a cat, Mrs. Collins?" he wheezed into the damp handkerchief after he had collected himself once more.

* * *

The next evening, their wait in the vast entryway at Rosings was mercifully brief. A heavy stomping and the approach of a booming yet melodic singing voice alerted the Hunsford party that the good parson's recital on window treatments and banister polishes must soon come to an end, and that company was on its way.

_"From door they went behind the bar,_  
_As it's by common fame reported;_  
_And there upon a turkey chair,_  
_Unseen the loving couple sported:_  
_Bet being call'd by company,_  
_As he was taking pains to please her;_  
_I'm coming, coming sir, says he,_  
_My dear, and so am I, says she, sir..." *_

The words became clearer as the rich tenor voice drew nearer.

"Hark," cried a blushing Mr. Collins. "I believe that the elegant Miss De Bourgh will be joining us."

Elizabeth, busily trying to decipher the meaning behind the unusual lyrics, felt a shadow pass over her and looked up. A woman unlike any she had ever seen approached them. Her large head sat upon broad shoulders. A wide smile split her ruddy cheeks. Great spools of red hair spired on either side of her head. Rather like Mrs. Goulding's jam-slathered scones, mused Elizabeth. The woman crossed the room briskly, her skirts swishing, her shadow growing, and the floor quaking from her heavy steps. Those were no slippers, Elizabeth realized. Instead massive black riding boots peeked out from under her full skirt.

"I say, you must be Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" boomed a low, cheerful voice. Miss De Bourgh reached out the largest, thickest hand the young woman from Longbourn had ever seen, seized Elizabeth's gloved hand, and shook it vigorously up and down. "Happy to make your acquaintance. Old Darce never stops singing your praises!"

She leaned forward and winked. "Dare all these tales be true?"

"Well, I hardly know, since I have not heard them myself, of course. I understand that he has quite a talent for... fiction," murmured Elizabeth, thinking of his slurs against Wickham.

"No, no!" Anne replied with great joviality, "my cousin always tells the truth, even when he might be better served by painting a bit of a prettier picture, if you know what I mean!" By now she was standing rather close to Elizabeth, and nudged Elizabeth's ribs knowingly with her elbow. Elizabeth involuntarily moved away a step.

"Indeed! I see you are your cousin's greatest defender, then," Elizabeth smiled, deciding to play along.

"Oh, yes! Jolly good fellow, even if he is a bit of a stick in the mud. He is a bloody good shot, and a top-notch rider! You should see the fellow on a hunt! The foxes practically throw themselves in his path, he is _that _good."

"And do you join him in these pursuits, Miss De Bourgh?" Elizabeth asked.

Mr. Collins started to interject, "Oh, yes, Miss De Bourgh is—," but then Miss De Bourgh herself interrupted him,

"Oh yes. We box, we joust, we ride and race. We no longer fence, of course," she sighed heavily and pulled at her sleeve. "Terrible danger of disfigurement and scarring. And Darcy has such a pretty face."

"Oh, you should have seen them wrestle as young pups and kits," cried the Colonel, now slowly tottering into the hall. "Always an even draw..."

"Until he grew to manhood. Got his whiskers and finally learnt how to pin me!" Anne bellowed.

The Colonel smiled and nodded at the guests. "I see my dear cousin has been entertaining you with fanciful tales of Darcy and De Bourgh feats of strength. Perhaps I could enjoin her to discuss her adventures on the pianoforte?"

Anne caught his smirk and parried back. "Oh yes, painting screens and tabletops is my evening delight, you old coot." She moved to cuff his ear as though he were an errant schoolboy. "As if anything could tear me away from my dear horses, sheep and goats on a cold winter's night!"

Elizabeth glanced between the cousins, one tall and robust and bursting with pent-up energy, the other frail and slight, his head bobbing with every sniffle.

"And your cousin? He is here as well?" she asked.

Anne's answer, something about Darcy running into her riding crop and ripping a hole in his breeches, was interrupted by the appearance of an older, only slightly less immense woman whose tall, powdered wig and wide, panniered skirts spoke of a bygone age. She glided smoothly into the room as if she were on wheels, her heavy, gold-ornamented brocade gown just barely swinging as she came to a stop in front of the woman one could only presume must be her daughter.

"Anne! Enough of this rousting-about nonsense. Show our guests into the sitting room, at once. And go put on a fichu and some jewelry. And some slippers! Take those filthy barnyard boots out of my house. Make yourself presentable for your cousin, young lady."

"Mother, how exactly can I show the guests into the sitting room while at the same time you have me stripping off my perfectly good shoes? It doesn't add up, I tell you!"

Anne chuckled and winked at Elizabeth. The latter bit her lip and turned to Charlotte, who was busy observing the scene with a sort of fascinated bemusement. To laugh, to flee? Rarely was Elizabeth Bennet so at a loss for words.

"I shall do the honors, never fear," interjected the Colonel, introducing Elizabeth and Maria to Lady Catherine and then wanly waving the guests down the mirrored hallway, the great lady herself leading the way. "Please, right this way," he said, mincing along on tender feet. Anne nodded and stomped away into the darkness.

"Darcy," she yelled, her voice fading down the hallway. "They are here! Get your breeches on!"

Elizabeth bowed her head and allowed herself to be herded down the garish hallway. In the ornately framed mirrors, she could catch glimpses of her companions. Charlotte maintained a placid smile. Her husband's face was crimson with anxiety as he focused on his feet and tried to keep from running over the slow-moving Colonel. Elizabeth's own reflection betrayed tension and amusement while Maria gazed about in awe and wonderment. All Elizabeth could see of Lady Catherine was her imperious nose and the tips of the feathers protruding from her bonnet.

As the Colonel shuffled across the sitting room with agonizing slowness, Elizabeth had time to look around and examine her surroundings. The centerpiece of the room was a large gilded armchair and ottoman, behind which hung a magnificent tapestry shot through with red, blue and gold, depicting in fine detail a Roman orgy. Elizabeth quickly averted her eyes, only to find that all around the room were similar artistic reminders of the decadent Classical past. Around the opulent throne, other chairs were carefully situated, facing it as if in supplication to its awesome power. Lady Catherine marched to the great chair and poised to sink into it, spreading her already wide skirts even wider, evidently oblivious to the rather shocking sight behind her. She waved imperiously to the others, gesturing that they might join her.

Before the Colonel was more than halfway to the large, soft, pillow-strewn chair that seemed to be the ultimate target of his creeping perambulation, Mr. Darcy burst into the room through a door in the far corner.

Words were spoken, exclamations were made, but Elizabeth's attention was immediately drawn to Darcy's breeches. They were really quite lovely, she thought, a golden fawn color, and they fit him like a glove. No rips or tears appeared in _these _breeches, though she thought she detected a slight hitch in his gait. Ah, so it was _that _sort of riding crop incident, she mused. Had he been sans breeches in his rooms whilst she stood just down the hall, she wondered?

"Hello, Miss Bennet."

Her head jerked up. Mr. Darcy was staring at her, his head angled and his mouth curved in a soft smile.

Elizabeth nodded and replied curtly, "Mr. Darcy." How's your bum? she thought, but bit back the words. Her eager, yet confused, expression, eyes aglow and lips pursed, left Mr. Darcy dumbstruck.

He turned around quickly and made his way to the Colonel, who was clearly in some distress, and assisted him in stepping over the lumps and rolls in the vast, drab olive-green carpet. Elizabeth wondered if this was where the bodies of disobedient servants and dependents were buried.

"Darcy, your cousin is fine. You should be helping your closest relation to her chair," Lady Catherine hissed, her arm extended and wavering as she hung just above her seat. Elizabeth could hear the huge jewels around her neck making a discordant clacking noise.

Darcy answered, "Yes, Aunt. Let me help my cousin get settled first." And he did help his cousin into his chair, fluffing the pillows gently and holding the Colonel by the elbow as he gently lowered himself onto the seat, rather winded by this time.

Darcy next assisted his aunt and was beginning to edge his way toward the chair next to Elizabeth when Anne came striding back into the room, now with a lace fichu carelessly tied around her neck in a futile attempt to cover her ample, muscular bosom. A horse-shaped, gem-encrusted brooch was pinned haphazardly to her chest. She cut Darcy off and plumped down in the chair next to Elizabeth, knees apart, and leaned forward on her elbows to try to catch Elizabeth and Charlotte's conversation. Anne's companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, rose from her chair across the room and came to stand behind her, whispering urgently that she assume a more demure pose, but Anne brushed her off. Mrs. Jenkinson subsided and faded into the woodwork. Darcy, visibly disappointed by Anne's choice of seat, was forced to choose a chair on the other side of the room.

Elizabeth bent her head closer to Charlotte and whispered, "Why does the Colonel always surround himself with so many pillows?"

Anne must have had very acute hearing indeed, because she guffawed and boomed, "Why so many pillows, you ask? Because his piles are troubling him again! Can you imagine, a military man, on horseback, with piles! Not that he ever had a good seat to begin with..." Anne slapped her thigh heartily and chortled at her cousin's discomfiture. "And wheezing and sneezing the likes of which you've never heard!"

Darcy cleared his throat. "Anne, did you order tea or would you like to go make it yourself?"

This is the lady betrothed to the great and powerful Mr. Darcy? Well, well, Elizabeth thought, tea time would always be entertaining, and might possibly be highlighted by hurly-burly and mumblety-peg games.

Lady Catherine shouted, "Darcy! Do not be absurd. Anne, make tea?" She craned her head around, searching. "Mrs. Jenkinson! Mrs. Jenkinson! You must order tea at once. Why have you not ordered it already? Where is that wretched woman?"

A loud tweet broke through the tumult. All heads turned to look at the Colonel, who held a tiny whistle between his fingers. "At your service, Aunt."

Mrs. Jenkinson re-materialized out of the woodwork, took her abuse from the great Lady Catherine, and scurried off to fetch tea for the party.

The group sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments until Mr. Collins could stand it no longer. He burst out, "Miss De Bourgh, will you not grace us with your extraordinary musical talents? I have never heard such skill, such feeling, such—"

Now it was the Colonel's turn to guffaw, although he did so very delicately into his handkerchief so as not to set off a coughing fit.

"Oh, Mr. Collins. Don't be a sillyhead," Anne said. She turned to Elizabeth, who was beginning to eye the doorway anxiously in hopes of that elusive tea service.

"Elizabeth. Might I call you that? And you must call me Anne." The ginger-haired woman smiled impishly and her fichu began a slow slide off of her shoulder, exposing her massive, muscled bosom. "I understand from my cousin that you are a most accomplished musician. Nothing made him happier than hearing you play and sing last autumn in Hertfordshire."

Elizabeth sat wide-eyed. All attention was upon her, as were Anne's hands upon her person. She scooted back in her chair, and slowly drew back her knees from the large hams which rested upon them. Elizabeth turned her head and met the dark stare of Mr. Darcy. She felt her nostrils flaring.

"Oh, truly, I play very ill. My skills have been greatly exaggerated."

Anne, her hands back in her own lap, shook her head sadly. "I would scarce believe it, Elizabeth. Darcy has never so vibrantly praised a lady's playing.

"Here at Rosings, nobody plays, nobody sings. I had so hoped..."

Elizabeth felt her resistance ebbing but was saved, for a time, by the arrival of the tea. The tea was weak, the ginger biscuits were dry, and the seed cakes were too seedy, but somehow the small meal restored her cheerful mood. Until Lady Catherine's voice broke through the clatter of spoons and mumbled conversation.

"Miss Bennet, who were your masters? Who provided your musical instruction? Are you a proficient?" She thrust out a thin arm and pointed a shaky finger at the peach-colored pianoforte across the room. Rosy-cheeked cherubs frolicked around its curlicued edges, and Elizabeth thought she detected a green-beaked stork amongst the babes. Such innocents had no business sharing a room with that unclothed, brazenly depicted Roman frolic which hung above her hostess's head. If nothing else, the colors clashed. She wished she could dash across the room and cover the cherubs' eyes.

"That is a finely tuned instrument," continued the great lady, "able to determine the worthiness of those who touch its keys."

"Shall you dare, Elizabeth?" asked Anne.

Elizabeth steeled her nerves and, if only to take her mind off the decor, answered with determination, "Yes. I shall."

Anne jumped up. A shower of crumbs and seeds and a teaspoon flew off her ample lap. "Yippee!" She grabbed Elizabeth's hand and gave her a shy smile. "I would be honored to turn your pages."

They were the only ones who did not notice Darcy quickly sit back down.

* * *

The next morning, Elizabeth decided to take a walk in the woods at Rosings. As she passed near the stables, she heard a horse approaching her from behind. It was Anne, sitting astride a giant steed, snorting steam from flaring nostrils. The horse looked quite overheated as well. Anne jumped from the horse and they cantered side by side up to Elizabeth.

"Good morning, Elizabeth!" she panted. Anne's face was aglow from her exertions and the early sun cast a particular light on her face, emphasizing a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and a bit of downy hair above her lip. Her eyes sparkled as she stood, awaiting her friend's greeting.

"And a good morning to you as well, Anne. It is a beautiful day for a ride. Your horse looks to have had quite a run."

Anne pulled gently on the reins and nuzzled her face against the beast's nose. "Yes, Hercules is quite my partner in crime and sport," she cooed. Suddenly, her face lit up in an expression already familiar to Elizabeth. "Do you ride? Would you like to jump on with me and race across the meadow?"

Hercules lifted his head and leaned toward Elizabeth. Alarmed by his equine overtures, she stepped back, stumbling over a pile of mossy pebbles. Anne caught Elizabeth's elbow and steadied her. "Never fear, Elizabeth. I have you. Hold on."

Elizabeth smiled and backed away. "I must be off before Charlotte worries for me and I miss Cook's muffins." She tried to ignore Anne's crestfallen expression. But the clouds soon cleared as Anne remembered the message she had hoped to deliver to her new friend.

"Say, tomorrow afternoon Darce and I are reprising our annual Fitzwilliam family Greco-Roman wrestling tournament. The Colonel traditionally acts as referee. Will you not join us? Maybe you could have a role, as well...towel girl, perhaps?" Anne asked enthusiastically.

Elizabeth's affirmative response came quickly, but her enthusiasm could be measured less generously than could her curiosity.

* * *

The next afternoon found the cousins and their guest on the prettyish lawn behind the great mansion. The servants had set out a wooden platform covered with a circular wrestling mat, and erected a graceful little pavilion next to it. Charlotte had begged off attending on account of the continuing argument between the cottagers about the enormous beet, Mr. Collins and Maria also staying behind to assist her in the negotiations. Thus the Colonel and Elizabeth sat together in the pavilion, in comfortable, well-cushioned chairs, sipping barley water, while Darcy and Anne prepared to do battle on the mat. The two cousins were attired in gladiators' tunics, cloth skirts below and leather straps criss-crossing here and there above, and they circled each other like two hungry, sandal-shod bears.

Elizabeth began coughing, perhaps having swallowed a stray fly while her mouth hung open, agog at the sight of so much bare skin. Oh my, she thought. How...furry. And muscular. And Mr. Darcy was all these things, too. She took a long swallow from her glass, and heard the Colonel chuckling.

"Quite a picture they make, hmm? As you see, Darcy is quite athletic."

"Yes, yes indeed," Elizabeth croaked. She'd never before seen a man's legs or chest and the sight was quite riveting. Even if it was Mr. Darcy.

Not quite sure where to look, she inquired, "Will Lady Catherine be joining us?"

A long watery sigh emerged from the Colonel. "No indeed. Not that she disapproves, exactly, though. Anne is an energetic girl and has always lacked suitable playmates who could challenge her. Her mother appreciates these contests within the family. You see, to her, they speak of nothing so much as compromise. Hands insinuated here and there, you know?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "She worries for Anne's innocence," he guffawed before breaking into a raspy cough.

"No, the real reason she stays away is that bodily fluids that are not her own make her swoon," he said with a wink once he had recovered his breath. "Trust me, I am an expert."

"And did you never take part in these competitions yourself?" Elizabeth asked.

The Colonel sneezed with a squeak and then chuckled. "Me? My goodness, no. But of course others have been in on the fun over the years—my brothers, various childhood chums and so forth. One year there was a milkmaid with a particularly strong grip..." He sniffled. "Well, shall we?" he chirped.

The Colonel pulled out his little whistle and tweeted it sharply. He clapped his gloved hands together in delight and called, "Lads, let us begin! And lasses, as well." Sitting forward attentively, he adjusted his lap robe and rearranged his shawl, ready for the match to commence. He blew the whistle again, and Darcy and Anne began to grapple, each seeking some sort of handhold wherever they could.

Elizabeth was unsure that this was entirely proper, but none of the others seemed to find anything amiss in the situation. Well, the cousins were engaged to be married, were they not?

The Colonel urged the two combatants on, watching carefully for any kind of misconduct. Suddenly he blew his whistle again as Darcy crumpled to the mat.

"Foul!" he cried. "Anne, hands above the waist!"

Anne laughed uproariously as she sportingly offered Darcy a hand up. "Sorry, old man. Slipped and all that. Reminds me of the year George Wickham grabbed your—"

"Yes, yes," gasped Darcy, still a bit winded. "Never mind that."

"Oh, so you are acquainted with Mr. Wickham, as well, Anne?" Elizabeth inquired.

"Indeed I am, that execrable, lying, scurrilous dung heap! If I ever see him again, I'll run him through with Dickie's dress sword," Anne shouted as she turned her back on Darcy to gesture just how she would deal with Wickham when next she saw him. Her tunic skirt fluttered in the breeze, exposing intermittent glimpses of her rippling tree-trunk thighs.

The Colonel quickly blew the whistle and Darcy made use of Anne's inattention to grab her and toss her bodily to the mat, pinning her before she knew what he was about.

Anne gave a great hoot of laughter as she lay prone. "You scabrous fox! You mangy cur! Taking advantage of my attentions to Elizabeth to best me!"

"A warrior never lets his guard down, not even to admire a pair of fine eyes," called the Colonel.

Darcy looked uncomfortable and politely asked the Colonel to shut it.

Anne laughed boisterously, springing back to her feet and beckoning to Darcy to re-engage in combat. "Come on, then, old man, best of seven as always!"

The Colonel once more blew his whistle, and they were off again, grunting, sweating, straining, and grabbing. Anne also engaged in nose-twisting, ear-wrenching, and the occasional administering of elbows to the gut, while Darcy stuck to the rules like a true gentleman. Once or twice, Elizabeth lifted her handkerchief to her face to wipe off a drop of the combatants' spittle or perspiration. Both Anne and Mr. Darcy were admirable physical specimens, but it was Mr. Darcy's sense of fair play and adherence to propriety that most impressed her. That and his forearms. They were dappled with soft fine hairs shielding firm muscles, muscles which firmly commanded the awkward physical situations created by Anne's rocking and pounding and writhing upon his person.

Did every man have such wondrously powerful thighs? And such an impressively broad chest? Elizabeth reached for her barley water, surreptitiously stealing a glance at the Colonel. No chest there; in fact, there was so little meat upon his bones that she shivered imagining him in a tunic. Then she noticed the odd gleam in his pale eyes as he watched Anne's every move. His nostrils flared a bit with every tumble and thud.

In the end, in spite of a gushing bloody nose, Darcy narrowly emerged the champion and was awarded the laurel wreath. He wore it proudly after he had bent low to allow Elizabeth to place it on his head, while Anne looked on enviously. At the Colonel's direction, Anne jammed some cotton wadding up Darcy's nose to stanch the bleeding. Then the combatants sprawled on the grass before the pavilion, bulging muscles gleaming with sweat, breasts heaving with exertion. Darcy looked quite done in, as well. While Anne sported bright red spots on her cheeks and blew in and out like a mighty wind, Darcy's flush was of a different sort indeed. Elizabeth sought his eyes; alas, she did so in vain, as he seemed quite unwilling to return her gaze. Suddenly he turned over, concealing all but his broad, glistening back and firmly muscled backside to her inquisitive eyes. An angry red welt on his thigh marred the image of perfection. Ah, gulped Elizabeth, the riding crop incident.

"Anne, I do not believe you have ever bested Darcy. At least, not since—"

"Yes, yes, yes, since his man hair grew in," Anne grumbled dismissively. "Why must you always compare us, Dickie? My cousin and I are not each other's equal. No one is my equal," she said quietly.

Elizabeth and Darcy both looked at Anne. Her face was in shadow, her chin resting on her knees, which were pulled up and providing a startling exhibit of her unmentionables. Both quickly looked away.

The Colonel chuckled. "Now Anne, neither of you is the other's equal, nor the other's dream match. You are large and strong. Darcy is handsome and agile. You both ride hard but your seats are so different. You would make a ridiculous pair, indeed." This revelation led to a bout of coughing into his already well-dampened handkerchief.

"Then it is a bloody fine thing we have spurned my mother's ridiculous, empty-headed notion of our nuptials," Anne muttered.

Darcy smirked and rolled his eyes. "Indeed. I am no match for you."

Elizabeth's head was spinning after this interchange.

"You mean to say that you two are not...engaged, as I had heard reported?" Elizabeth ventured, looking between Anne and Darcy.

Darcy looked startled at the very thought, and Anne guffawed loudly, "Good Lord, no! What in the name of all that is holy ever gave you _that _idea? We should never suit. He bests me every time, you know! Where is the fun in that? He is too much man for me!"

"As is she, for me," Darcy returned, nodding to Anne in polite agreement. "But may I inquire, where did you hear such a falsehood? Was it by any chance—" he looked sickened at having to say such a distasteful name— "George Wickham?"

Elizabeth averted her eyes. Perhaps she might have made some kind of misjudgement regarding _that _man, after all.

Anne rounded on Darcy and boomed, "What? That scoundrel is roaming the countryside spreading lies about you again? How many times did I tell you we should have set the dogs on him that last time he came begging for money? But no! You will do anything, _anything_, to protect your sister's good name, and look where that has got you!"

"Annie, really," scolded the Colonel, casting a sideways glance at Elizabeth as he delicately wiped his pursed lips with a serviette.

"Yes, Anne, please, have a little decorum—" Darcy protested.

"Decorum, you say!" shouted Anne as she jumped to her feet and towered over all of them like the Colossus of Rhodes, meaty hands on her ox-like hips. "I have listened to both of you lo these many years and done my best to follow your strictures about decorum, and reputation, and appearances. And look where all this skulduggery and deception have left us! Right back where we started—only that monster has spread his poison even farther afield. Well, I shall not stand for it another second. From now on, no more masquerades, no more tiptoeing about. Air out the cupboards, clear those skeletons out of the wardrobes. I am living my life in full truth from this time forward!"

"Anne, let us not be hasty—" cautioned the Colonel.

"No! I am marching straight to the stables to blow off some steam with Roger the stableboy. And to visit my sheep. This evening, the three of us will have a little sit-down over port and cigars"—she pointedly ignored the Colonel's interjection about how port turned his stomach, and how cigar smoke gave him the vapours—"and talk about how we are going to put an end to this debacle at last. Good day!" She stormed off toward the stables, sandals flashing in the sunlight.

Darcy stood and said to the Colonel, "I will go after her. Please, will you explain it all to Miss Elizabeth? Everything?" he pleaded.

"Even...Georgiana?"

Darcy nodded sharply, and took off in pursuit of Anne. Elizabeth couldn't help but admire the pumping of his legs as he sprinted away from her. It was unseemly to look, she knew, but she couldn't help herself.

The Colonel cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Elizabeth looked at him inquiringly as he adjusted his lacy cuffs and took a sip of barley water.

"Well, then," he said, and he proceeded, between coughing spells, to tell her the long, sad, sordid story of Wickham's involvement with the Darcy family, and of his abortive attempt to elope with Georgiana.

"None of those things Mr. Wickham told me are true, then?" Elizabeth wondered aloud, her previous certainty beginning to crumble.

"I should certainly be surprised if _anything _he said was entirely accurate," responded the Colonel, mopping his brow after the exertion of having just spoken so very much.

"So Mr. Wickham is all bad, and Mr. Darcy is...all good?"

The Colonel chuckled wheezily. "I am not sure I would go that far, my dear lady. Darcy cares a tad too much about the color of his waistcoats and is a bit too proud of his curls and his august pedigree. Not to mention, he is always poncing about interfering in other people's business. Why, just the other day he was telling me about how he had saved his good friend, Bingley, from making an unsuitable match with a Hertfordshire maid whose connections to trade—"

"Oh! I knew it! That was my sister, Jane." Upon hearing this, the Colonel clapped his hand over his mouth in mortification, clearly wishing he had said less. Elizabeth continued stonily, "He has ruined her happiness forever. I nevertheless regret having misunderstood his character so grievously."

The Colonel leaned closer and rubbed the thin stubble on his chin. "How so, Miss Bennet?"

Reluctantly and in as restrained language as she could manage, Elizabeth revealed to the Colonel the history of her dealings with Mr. Darcy, his slights, insults, and odd attentions to her person. The Colonel could barely restrain his giggles at some particularly ridiculous points in her narrative.

"He said that? Truly?" chortled the Colonel, dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief. "What a ninny. In fact, he admires you quite a bit, you know," he commented.

"Oh?" Elizabeth cleared her throat. "I cannot understand why that might be so, if indeed it is. I have no arts nor allurements, no athletic skills beyond hill walking and puddle jumping. I am no match for his...prowess and interests. Nor, perhaps more importantly, for his station in life."

"No, indeed, and he feels that keenly, I have observed."

"So keenly as to have broken my dearest sister's heart and led his friend astray." Elizabeth's eyes narrowed and she glared at the Colonel. "Has Mr. Bingley ever taken part in these matches with Anne?"

Following a long coughing fit and a series of twittering sneezes, the Colonel dolefully looked at Elizabeth. "To what do these questions tend? Everyone wrestles or boxes with Anne. In their breeches and shirts, I will have you know!" He hacked for a bit. "Only Darcy and my brothers are so familiar with her.

"And not to put too fine a point on it, Bingley only tried once and she broke his finger. Now he serves as official mascot of the games, as well as booster-in-chief." He nodded. "Cheerful fellow. But sad these days. If your sister loves him, you should tell Darcy. He will listen, I believe."

Elizabeth sat pondering this for a few moments. "Very well. I shall endeavor to view him with clearer, less prejudiced eyes. Thank you for trusting me with your confidences."

She stood and offered the Colonel her hand to assist him in standing. He took her arm, leaning heavily on her, and together they shuffled back to the great house.

**End of Part the First**

* * *

_Fever dream or swooningly romantic tale? What on earth could possibly happen next? Please share your thoughts with us._

*Lyrics from a traditional English bawdy song, "Oyster Nan."


	2. Part the Second

**Part the Second**

It took Darcy some time to find Anne at the stables, but he finally discovered her emerging from the hayloft, bits of hay sticking at odd angles from her hair and gladiator costume. As he drew near, she slapped the backside of Roger the stablehand, a slight, sandy-haired youth of twenty with a delicate peaches-and-cream complexion, as he, too, descended the ladder from above. She sent him off with a roar of "Well done, lad! Well done! Off you go now!" Roger looked back at her with a shy, happy smile on his face as he headed for the milking shed.

Anne ignored Darcy and stomped into the barn, where she made for the stall belonging to her favorite ewe, Evie. Darcy chased after her and perched, scratching, atop a barrel as she sat down in the straw and stroked Evie's head while gazing into her dull, sheepy eyes.

Darcy pushed his laurel wreath further back on his head and pulled the cotton wadding out of his nostrils. Then, clearing his throat, he began to speak. "Anne, I would never presume to tell another person how to live—"

"Oh, balls. As you well know, it is your second favorite pastime, after admiring your own handsome figure in the looking glass. So bloody proud of yourself. Just leave me alone," Anne spat, tugging on Evie's ears.

"How could you say that, Annie? Do I not sacrifice my dignity for your sake constantly?"

"Bollocks to your dignity! You are so thoroughly obsessed with it that you cannot even bring yourself to reach for happiness when it is right in front of you."

"What do you mean?" Darcy asked, all innocence.

"Do not be daft. I mean Miss Elizabeth, of course. You are obviously head-over-heels in love with her—and who is not, for that matter, with those eyes, and that wit, and those luscious...Never mind, that is not the point. Your stupid, tunnel-visioned fixation on connections and propriety, and your conviction that you are so much better than everyone else for it...all they have got you is a library full of musty old books and annual wrestling matches with me. And a sister who is locked up like a nun, and your reputation smeared all over the countryside by that bastard, Wickham."

Anne buried her face in Evie's soft fleece and sighed. "Darce, you do not wrestle with other ladies, do you? I know Dickie's brothers go to those houses in London, but not you?" she looked at him hopefully. "Miss Elizabeth is the only other lady I would want to see you pin."

"Miss Elizabeth—" Darcy sputtered. "Really, I hardly think—"

"Shut it, Darcy. We cannot help who we love. Get off your high horse and smell the manure." Anne caressed Evie's nose and lay her head down on the sheep's back, running her fingers affectionately through the sheep's newly shorn coat.

Eyes wide and mouth opened, Darcy shook his head. "No, Anne, you do not understand. Her mother is loud and appalling, her father pays no attention to anything outside of his books! Miss Elizabeth and her sister are irreproachable, but her younger sisters have no respect for propriety at all!"

Anne skewered him with a look. "And how, precisely, is that any different from _our _family?"

Darcy glanced sharply at his cousin. "Speaketh the De Bourgh family jewel?" he said sardonically. Then he smiled a wistful smile. "I do admire Miss Elizabeth, Anne. Far more than you can imagine. She is the most intelligent, interesting woman I have ever known. Her eyes captivate me, and her kindness to her sister warmed my heart. I never imagined a lady such as her watching, nay enjoying, our little feats of strength. But she did! She is everything I could hope for in a wife. Everything I could dream of."

He shook his head and sighed. "I adore her, Anne. Her family, though, is so very low..."

Anne shot back, "It may escape your notice, but you really are so incredibly insulting sometimes. You should think about improving your manners. Then you might truly become the _gentleman _you imagine yourself to be."

"I thank you, Anne, for sharing your opinion of my deficiencies as a gentleman. Need I remind you that I am guardian to my younger sister and master of my own estate? I do have to keep certain considerations in mind." He glared at her and winced. "Please cross your legs, Anne. My eyes hurt from averting them."

"To the devil with you! It is nothing you have not seen before," she snorted. "I certainly do hope that your dignity and pride will keep you warm at night. You are not the only one in this family with blunted hopes and dreams. Now, get out of my barn. I want to sit with my friends."

A cow mooed in the next stall as Darcy stormed away.

* * *

A chastened Darcy emerged from his rooms after several hours of painful self-reflection. He now steeled himself to face Anne and the Colonel again, and to discuss their plans for dealing with Wickham. But when he entered the old, dark, leather-scented study favored by him and his cousins, he found the pair in an uproar. The Colonel sat upon his pile of frilly pillows, a queasy expression on his face and a crumpled piece of paper in one hand. The other hand held a bottle of port, half-emptied and dripping slowly onto the silken cherub adorning one cushion. Anne was pacing and stroking her chin. The hart's head above the fireplace seemed to be tracking her with its eyes.

"What is it?" Darcy ventured. "Has someone died?" He stalked across the scattered rugs and animal pelts and sank into his uncle's worn leather armchair. The tigerskin on the floor in front of the fire looked at him accusingly, mouth wide as if it wished to bite him in return for some terrible affront.

"Not by my hand," the Colonel muttered. "Cursed Boney has risen again, and all commanders are called forthwith to duty. I am to report by Monday next." He waved his orders in the air and then thrust them firmly between the fingers of the monkey's paw displayed on the table beside him. "Bloody warmongers," he whispered, and burst into a fit of sneezing.

Horrified, Darcy began listing all the reasons his beloved cousin could not report for duty and then began another long-winded delineation of all the family connections and influences they could rally to prevent such a dire circumstance. "We can buy out your commission..." As he spoke, he reached for the great globe standing next to his chair, absently spinning it round and round.

The Colonel looked impressed but dizzy. He took a swig of port, and his stomach lurched visibly. He turned his head away from the globe, the many pink bits whizzing by, and tried to regain his equilibrium.

"Oh shut it, Darcy. Neither Fitzwilliam blood nor Darcy gold can free Dickie of his duty. Only I can do this." Anne whirled around, a pair of sheep-shears in her hand. Apparently she had fished them out of the enormous hieroglyph-covered canopic jar standing next to her. "I will go in his place."

Both men stared at her, silently. Then the Colonel spoke.

"You still keep a pair of those in every room?" he asked, nodding toward the sharpened blades.

"Aye," Anne chuckled. "Anything that worked once on Wickham must be a good-luck charm."

All three were briefly lost to the memory of a 13-year-old Anne throttling a young, terrified George Wickham, his hair sheared off at odd angles and his breeches still caught around his ankles.

"No one diddles with his dangly man-bits in my mother's house," Anne said sternly.

Both Darcy and the Colonel took a moment to clear their throats and stare guiltily at heretofore overlooked dust motes lurking in the dark corners of the room.

"So who will do the honors?" Anne queried, pointing at her coiffure. "Dickie, you have shaky hands but an artist's eye. Darcy, you are a bit clumsy." She shook her head and snorted. "And a bit stupid."

She stalked over to the Colonel, snatched away the bottle, and perched on the edge of the cushions. With the shears in her lap, Anne reached up and began undoing the intricate knots which held up her thick red hair.

"All right now, cuz," she said, handing the shears to the Colonel. "Get to it."

"Annie?" the men cried in unison.

"I have dreamed a dream, and now I am going to live it," she averred. "And keep my beloved cousin safe in the bargain." She nodded and a giant smile cleaved her ruddy face. "Boney is not even half the man I can be. Chop it off, Dickie."

* * *

The following morning, Anne called at the parsonage. She wanted to say farewell to the ladies therein. That very day she was off to London, where she would visit Darcy's tailor to have some regimentals made up in time for her to report for duty early the next week.

Earlier that morning, Anne had had a great row with her mother when she had announced her plans. Lady Catherine was, naturally, opposed to Anne's departure for the Continent, but not for the reasons that any of the cousins might have expected.

"Yes, yes, off to fight Boney," the great lady had said dismissively, "we can explain that away to the neighbors with very little difficulty. But what of your marriage to Darcy? You must do your duty to your family! And more importantly, what of _me_? You are the heir to Rosings, after all. What if you die with no issue? This will never do!" she roared.

Anne had at last mollified her by informing her that she and the Colonel had decided to marry, with the understanding that he, as the new master of Rosings, would continue to support Lady Catherine for the rest of her life. He would accompany Anne to London for the purpose of obtaining a marriage license, and to smooth over any matters related to Anne's adoption of his identity. Lady Catherine had taken half a minute to absorb the particulars of her new situation—and that of her daughter—before nodding and shouting for more biscuits.

Elizabeth was surprised indeed to see Anne enter the cottage wearing a finely tailored tailcoat, waistcoat and breeches that she recognized as Darcy's. The coat was a bit tight across the chest and the breeches seemed close to bursting their seams at the hips, but it was otherwise a remarkably good fit, as the cousins were of similar height. She was even more surprised to see Anne's shorn head after she removed her hat.

"Oh Anne," she gasped. "Your beautiful hair!"

Anne blushed and shyly asked if she could leave a lock with her new, particular friend. "Dickie and Darcy each have a bit, but there is one nape curl I saved for you." She placed a silk handkerchief in Elizabeth's hand, a bit of deep-red hair peeking out its edges.

Elizabeth dipped her head and smiled. "I would be honored, Anne. But please tell me, what is happening? Another contest of strength? You are dressed in Mr. Darcy's clothing, yes? Shall I expect to see him turn up in one of your gowns and a bonnet?"

Anne roared with laughter, bringing Mr. Collins scuttling in, closely followed by Charlotte and Maria. When she had regained her calm, Anne settled down in Mr. Collins' favorite chintz-covered chair and told the residents of Hunsford parsonage about her grand adventure.

"But, but, will you not be marrying Mr. Darcy and uniting the great estates?" Mr. Collins asked, stunned. "Your mother..."

"My mother is fine, Mr. Collins. And Darcy's matrimonial plans never included me. There is another who has captured his heart," she said, pointedly eyeing Elizabeth.

"I think it is lovely," cried Maria. "They will write books about your sacrifice, your exploits, your romantic gesture. All for the love of a sickly man!" She clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, "Are breeches scratchy?"

"Never mind that," Charlotte scolded. "We must put you and the Colonel in our prayers. I will greatly miss your company, Miss Anne, but I am awed by your courage." The two women exchanged warm smiles.

The door opened and a servant announced the cousins, Mr. Darcy entering with the Colonel on his arm. Greetings and congratulations ensued as Mr. Darcy escorted the groom-to-be to a cushioned seat on the settee. Charlotte rose to gather the tea things. Maria, chin in hand, dreamily watched the proceedings.

"I am so very happy for you, Anne," Elizabeth said gently. "I wish you a safe passage, and a swift and victorious return to England.

"Now about that hair—did you do that yourself in the dark with pruning shears and no looking glass? Let me fix it for you," she said, reaching for the sharp little scissors in her sewing basket.

She gestured for Anne to take a seat on a chair next to the settee, and Anne obediently complied. After borrowing the Colonel's shawl and arranging it carefully around Anne's shoulders to protect her clothing, Elizabeth trimmed and snipped here and there, and finally smoothed Anne's hair into place. "There you are, that looks a bit more respectable. Perhaps while in London, you can visit a proper barber for a more expert cut and a shave."

Anne stood and removed the shawl, brushed off her broad shoulders with her massive hands, and then dipped her head in gratitude. She took Elizabeth's delicate hand in her own and kissed it gallantly. "Thank you, Elizabeth. I wish you every happiness."

"As I do you," Elizabeth replied, turning to the Colonel and inclining her head to him with a warm look. "Both of you."

The Colonel smiled and sipped his tea, pinky high in the air. He glanced at his cousin, standing in the doorway, transfixed by the scene before him. "Get to it, man. Talk to her. Matrimony is all the rage these days," he stage-whispered.

When visiting time was over and the cousins at last made for the door, Anne turned back to Elizabeth one final time. "Oh, Elizabeth, I forgot to mention. Before I set sail, I intend to make a brief visit to your hometown, Meryton. Is there any message you would like me to take your family?"

"To Meryton?" asked Elizabeth, startled. "What on earth takes you there?"

"I have some unfinished business with a member of the -shire militia," Anne replied, with a bloodthirsty glint in her eye.

"Now, Anne," said the Colonel, gripping her elbow to keep his balance, "we must discuss precisely what you have in mind there..."

"Rest easy, Dickie. I will not hurt him below the waist." She took his arm and patted it. "His neck is a much more inviting target."

Elizabeth gasped. "You plan to find Wickham and run him through?"

Darcy stepped forward and fixed his gaze on Anne. "My dear cousin plans to run Wickham straight into the arms of the law, is that not right, Anne?"

"Anne?" echoed the Colonel.

Anne let loose a huge, exasperated sigh and glared at them thunderously. "Oh, yes, yes, if you insist. Just give me the papers you both hold for his debts, and added to my own I shall have the knave in Marshalsea before you can say 'poxy maggot.'"

"Really, Anne, not in front of the ladies," chided the Colonel.

The carriage for the bride and groom presumptive were at the ready outside the cottage, along with a goods cart. The latter held the Colonel's many finely painted flowered trunks, as well as Anne's plain brown one and Evie the ewe. Roger the stablehand scurried to assist the Colonel into the carriage while Darcy and Anne gave each other one last back-thumping farewell embrace.

His voice coming out in great whooshes from Anne's pounding, Darcy said, "Be well, dear cousin. Please return to us safely so you can resume the life of a country gentlewoman. The sheep and horses will miss you nearly as much as we will."

"Have no doubt that I shall!" Anne shouted heartily as she lifted Darcy high in the air. "You see, cutting my hair has given me the strength of ten men, rather than diminishing it like Samson! Before you know it I shall be back, and see if I don't take home the laurels at our next wrestling tournament!"

After Anne had returned Darcy to terra firma, she noticed that Roger was still hovering, waiting to help her into the carriage. "Off with you, lad, into the cart! Time enough for coddling and petting later on, eh?" she boomed, swatting his backside and sending him scooting off to settle into the wagon with Evie.

Darcy handed Anne up and closed the carriage door, and the driver cracked the whip. They were off.

"Godspeed!" called the rest of the party as the carriage made its way down the drive. The Colonel fluttered his handkerchief out the window in farewell as the others continued to wave goodbye till long after the travelers had disappeared from sight.

Charlotte turned and eyed Elizabeth and Darcy, who were both looking a bit downcast at the prospect of their friends' departure. "Maria, Mr. Collins! I have devised a solution to the cottagers' disagreement over the enormous beet! Please, let us go inside. I shall show you a diagram I have drawn up which I think will satisfy both parties in every way—" and she herded them, twittering away, back inside the cottage.

Darcy rubbed his side ruefully as he faced Elizabeth. "She does indeed have the strength of ten men. Perhaps even a hundred."

Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow at him. "The riding crop?"

Darcy laughed. "She keeps it in the oddest places. But no...it is merely that her embraces can at times be overly exuberant. She forgets that not all of us have the power and fortitude of horses, swine and cows."

"Or sheep," Elizabeth observed. "She is quite fond of Evie. Roger should be a great help in caring for both Evie and the Colonel."

"Yes," Darcy said, nodding his head. "They may not seem a good match at first blush, except as regards the future of the estate. But in truth they make quite a lovely, albeit unusual, little family. Each contributes in his or her own unique way."

"Indeed," agreed Elizabeth warmly. "The uniform arrangements and expectations of society are sometimes too confining to allow for the felicity of those who cannot easily conform to convention."

Darcy wrinkled his brow and turned to look at her. "And speaking of lost felicity...I am sorry about Bingley. I misjudged his feelings for your sister. The man has been predictable in his doings for as long as I've known him, every day an impetuous search for fleeting happiness. When he had genuine feelings, I failed to recognize them or respect them."

Elizabeth nodded. "My sister's feelings can be difficult to see; she has been careful in exhibiting happiness for fear of exciting my mother's expectations." She twisted the handkerchief filled with Anne's lock of hair. "No one can have a perfectly clear understanding of another's feelings when he cannot even be sure of his own."

She paused and glanced around for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Particularly, as in my case, when one's good judgment has been impaired by both wounded pride and purposeful misunderstanding."

Elizabeth walked away a few steps to a small rose bush, its first buds forming but not yet ready to burst into the spring air. She took a deep breath and turned around, startled to see Darcy had followed. She looked up into his clear eyes and saw his confusion. "Mr. Darcy, I owe you an apology. Your former friend, Mr. Wickham, is indeed a talented teller of tales, and according to the Colonel, he is capable of the most venal acts.

"I see now that he is no gentleman. Yet based upon his talent for weaving a web of untruths, and my ridiculous belief in their goodness, I misjudged you." Elizabeth wiped furiously at her eyes. "Please forgive me, and tell me your sister is well?"

"Oh, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, his heart aching at her words. "Georgiana is fine." He pushed his handkerchief into her hand. "Wickham is a scourge, indeed. I am sorry he touched your heart."

"But he did not," she cried.

"Then I am sorry for your tears. There is nothing to forgive. I was wrong not to warn your father or Colonel Forster of Wickham's treachery."

They stood in silence, both feeling the awkwardness of the moment yet unable to break the spell of warm familiarity. Feeling the spring sun above them, Elizabeth lifted her face up to feel its rays and a small smile lightened her countenance. Darcy stood transfixed by her beauty. He briefly wondered if either of his cousins would ever be so fortunate as to think anyone as lovely as he found her, or feel what he did for her in his heart now.

He caught his breath and swallowed. "Miss Elizabeth, I find myself at loose ends. My family has gone, and I believe you are my last, best friend here." He took her bare hand in his gloved one, and ran his thumb over her fingers. "Would you do me the great honor of walking out with me?"

Elizabeth opened her eyes and replied, laughingly, "I would love to, Mr. Darcy. But only if you promise to regale me with epic tales of your great feats of strength." She wrinkled her nose. "As well as the history of those costumes, and, dare I ask?, who designed them."

"Well," said Mr. Darcy, taking her arm and setting their direction down the lane, "as you might have ascertained from the tapestry and decorations in my aunt's sitting room, she is a great admirer of the Classics..."

"Ah, yes," said Elizabeth, blushing. "It seems to be a family trait to adhere to high principles and manners, while also accepting happy deviations from expectation."

"Yes, you have seen us in all of our wondrous glory," replied Darcy. He turned crimson as he recognized the dual meaning of his words.

"Indeed I have, Mr. Darcy. Though I have been privy to only a few of them, I dare say you are a man of untold mysteries." She tightened her grip on his arm. "Now about those wrestling costumes...what, pray tell, do the competitors wear at the annual chess tournament?"

**The End of Part the Second  
**

* * *

_If you have any idea what the hell that was all about, please do let us know. An epilogue follows shortly._


	3. Part the Last: Epilogue

**Part the Last: Epilogue**

The following year, Anne returned to Rosings with Roger and Evie, brandishing Boney's favorite sword. She brought with her as well a jolly, pink-cheeked babe named Atalanta. The cherub had been born on the battlefield at Waterloo whilst her mother led a fearsome charge against the enemy, Anne's blood-curdling war cry causing the Frenchies to turn tail and flee. Roger, following behind her leading Hercules, had scooped the enormous infant up from the turf and been immediately impressed by her powerful grip and strong lungs. Anne's troops on the gory battleground were none the wiser. The new heir to Rosings looked suspiciously like Roger, sharing his peaches-and-cream complexion, but she also had the Colonel's sparkling, amused and observant eyes. Her flaming red hair, however, left no doubt as to her maternity. Atalanta had taken an immediate fancy to Evie, eventually learning to stand by hauling herself up by the loving ewe's ears .

Upon the little family's return to Rosings, they were overjoyed to find the Colonel heavier by a full stone and with a hint of pink in his own cheeks. He had passed the year at his new home rebuilding his health and supervising the construction of a sporting compound. Much to the delight of his wife, it included a wrestling pavilion, boxing ring and steeplechase course. He had also overseen the renovation of the stables, which were now quite luxurious, to the immense pleasure of both Roger and Evie.

The newlywed Darcys and Georgiana soon joined the party at Rosings as well. However, much to the disappointment of his cousins and his eager young sister, the happy husband demurred from further wrestling exhibitions with his cousin in deference to his impending fatherhood, to his desire to confine his intimate familiarities to his good wife, and to Anne's newly increased upper body strength.

Anne at length abandoned her attempts to convince him otherwise, and consented instead to a chess tourney. The joyous party thus gathered under the wrestling pavilion, each garbed in the family's traditional chess-playing costume of togas and sandals. Lady Catherine complained that her great wig clashed with her robe, while Evie dined upon her own toga; but young Atalanta cooed and pulled at hers while happily teething on her sandal. She grunted and struck many a fierce wrestling pose in her cradle, already embracing the family's love of the Classics.

It was Elizabeth, her belly swelling with imminent motherhood, who proved to be the fiercest and most ruthless competitor at the chessboard, briskly vanquishing her hapless opponents with quick, slashing maneuvers. In the end, the Colonel, all aflutter, placed the laurel wreath on her head whilst her husband and other new cousin looked on adoringly.

And thus we leave our happy band, all snug in the immense, muscled bosom of family and friends; all secure in the knowledge that each is loved for his or her own unique qualities, strengths and weaknesses; and, further, all warm in the knowledge that, through the selfless work of a noble few, the empire is saved, and thus the sheep may safely graze.

**The End of Part the Last**

**~Finis~**

* * *

_Please do share any parting thoughts, feelings or opinions about the story with us by leaving a review. Perhaps the__ title at last makes sense in light of the lyrics to this beautiful piece of music, which you might wish to listen to if you don't know it already: _

**Lyrics to J.S. Bach's Cantata No. 208, "Sheep May Safely Graze," BWV 208**  
(English):  
Sheep may safely graze on pasture  
When the shepherd guards them well.  
Where rulers govern well  
we may feel peace and rest  
and what makes countries happy

(German):  
Schafe können sicher weiden,  
Wo ein guter Hirte wacht.  
Wo Regenten wohl regieren,  
Kann man Ruh und Friede spüren  
Und was Länder glücklich macht.


End file.
